Marcus Caine - The Last Words

I heard screaming and hit the ball hard at Ponch’s face before going to see what was going on. The big guy had grabbed a girl by the arm, hard, and started yelling something, of course I didn’t know what, but something, and everyone seemed real confused. And the other orderlies, they looked dazed, like they cared more about what he was saying than what he was doing, so I stepped in. After all, I’m not a little guy.

“What the hell are you doing?” I think I yelled. And he looked at me and I could see something was broken, something was very deeply wrong. He started yelling something again, but in a singsong chant kind of way, and was about to get in my face.

Joe grabbed him and turned him around and didn’t even try to talk with him, he just knocked him out, one punch. He didn’t need to do that, I could have taken him, I’ve been in my share of brawls in my time.

He turned to the girl, I guess asking if she was OK. And I looked around, confused as all hell, and at least two others looked off, like he had, dazed, and a doctor, and one of the patients, and a nurse. Something in general was very wrong. But what? It was really creepy, the way they just looked kind of blank, like they were all thinking something really hard, but something unpleasant. And the worst part is it was like they were all thinking the same intense, unpleasant thing. Should I say something? What would I say? That they all looked weird? I would sound like one of the schizos.

When I first heard the orderlies start saying something, off, you know, those words, I covered my ears. Jude had mentioned some strange phrase on the TV, and I knew, I knew, this must be it, this must be how they did it. Maybe it was the code words that they had conditioned into us with the TV and radio and internet. Conditioned us from birth, and these code words would activate us, or sedate us, or something, like on the Manchurian candidate. Brainwashing. Or maybe we were starting to hear the words they had conditioned us not to hear. I don’t know but I knew I couldn’t listen to them. I knew that their true purpose was…insidious. So I covered my ears and went to my room and put in my ear plugs. I kept a stash I got from the nurses’ station, for when the TV was too loud. And then I tore my pillow case into strips and wrapped it around my head and put some extra padding from the pillow over my ears, just to make sure.

I would have to be careful about seeing it too, stay in my room as much as possible. I made a blindfold to keep around my neck, in case I needed it to cover my eyes later. I also made a bandana, you know, like those anarchists and rioters, to cover my mouth in case there was gas and smoke later. There was always gas and smoker later, wasn’t there, when things like this started? Molotov cocktails, tear gas grenades. Police state. It was coming. I was right, and I wished for the first time that I had been wrong. That I had just been crazy, like they said I was. I wish I had been wrong.

There was fighting out in the common area. Jude and Tim Tom beating somebody up, everyone else just watching. I knew if Jude and Tim were beating somebody they had a good reason. But it was so weird that no one was trying to stop it.

First it was the big one, Jim or John or something. I knocked him the fuck out before he could do anything. I expected the rest of them to jump on me, restrain me, even though I was just defending the girl, but no, they just stared, looking stupid. Looking creepy, actually.

After that I tried talking to Tim Tom, see what he knew, but that’s never easy. He did say he thought something was wrong with the guy, like he had looked off. I was asking him what he meant by that when it happened again. Another orderly started screaming those words; worm milk chest mouth… what the hell? And he started fighting with one of the male nurses, not just fighting but scratching, biting, going for the eyes. There was blood. It took five of us to get him off but he would not settle down, not for anything, even with a good punch to the solar plexus, nothing, no reaction, so I had to knock him out too. Had too. No real choice, and still, no one did anything.

Dr. Gates seemed to be the only one with enough sense to get patients to their rooms, to separate people and start asking questions. He was talking to the other doctors but seemed frustrated with them. Then he backed off, looking at them like there was something wrong with them. And he looked at me, and he was scared, visibly frightened.

And that was when it just all went to shit.

I was trying to talk to Tim Tom again, and a few other patients, seeing if anyone had any idea if they had been on drugs or if there had been any bad blood. No one knew anything. One of the patients even said the guys had been friends, had joked around with each other.

While we were talking I heard one of the doctors, an Indian guy, start chanting, but in Hindi I think. He started chanting louder and louder and his face went from blank to stony then to straight up rage. I saw it come up fast, filled his eyes with malice. I knew he was seeing red but had no idea why. And I didn’t react fast enough. He pulled out his pen and stabbed a patient. Just fucking stabbed him. And then kept doing it while Tim Tom and I pulled him off. Dr. Gates tried to help. But everyone else was just acting stupid. I managed to get the pen from him but broke a couple of his fingers doing it, and he didn’t seem to feel it, he just jumped on me, biting at my face. He wasn’t big but he was mad, none the less I managed to get him in a sleeper and he was out.

Then another one started, a nurse, then another, another orderly. They started chanting and I was ready, knowing it was coming. The Doctor knew too, and was even more prepared than me. He had a syringe and got the girl first, she jumped on him, and I pulled her off but could feel her already going limp. Tranquilizers. He didn’t even hesitate to inject the next person. And he gave me a couple to help him.

We put them in the computer room and in the solitary room.

“I’ve never had to use this room before, not sure if anyone has in a while,” Dr. Gates huffed, trying to catch his breath.

Then he told me, “something is wrong. Very, very wrong and whatever is happening is on the news. It’s spreading.”

And then we heard the explosion, far away I think, but big, and we looked out the window and could already see the smoke. It was coming from Manhattan.

We started rounding patients up, the ones who were scared and not violent, and getting them up to the next floor. It was almost done being renovated so no one was up there. Just some equipment and tools, the paint smell, and some of the furniture that had been covered in plastic.

So we started moving patients up when Timothy stopped us. “Not him,” he said, pointing at Jonathon, a manic depressive patient.

“What? Why not?” I tried to gesture.

“He’s off. There’s something wrong with him, like with the others.”

I tried to ask him what he meant but he didn’t seem to understand.

Jude stepped in, “leave him.”

“What?”

“Leave him. I trust Tim Tom’s judgment. He says there’s something wrong with him then there is.”

Jude didn’t even remember Timothy beyond this morning, maybe not even from more than a few hours ago, yet he trusted him to make this decision and I hadn’t even thought about it. He was right.

Timothy hasn’t been able to communicate through traditional means since his accident 6 years ago. Of course, I had seen it before; he had developed an intuitive sense of body language and facial expressions. He could tell that something was wrong with Jonathon, and the others. He had been the first to each scene, ready to stop it, because he had known it was coming.